An Ideal Husband - Oscar Wilde (phonics story books .txt) 📗

GORING. Yes, father, but I only admit to thirty-two - thirty-one and a half when I have a really good buttonhole. This buttonhole

is not … trivial enough.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. I tell you you are thirty-four, sir. And there is a

draught in your room, besides, which makes your conduct worse. Why

did you tell me there was no draught, sir? I feel a draught, sir, I

feel it distinctly.

 

LORD GORING. So do I, father. It is a dreadful draught. I will

come and see you to-morrow, father. We can talk over anything you

like. Let me help you on with your cloak, father.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. No, sir; I have called this evening for a definite

purpose, and I am going to see it through at all costs to my health

or yours. Put down my cloak, sir.

 

LORD GORING. Certainly, father. But let us go into another room.

[Rings bell.] There is a dreadful draught here. [Enter PHIPPS.]

Phipps, is there a good fire in the smoking-room?

 

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. Come in there, father. Your sneezes are quite

heartrending.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, I suppose I have a right to sneeze when I

choose?

 

LORD GORING. [Apologetically.] Quite so, father. I was merely

expressing sympathy.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. Oh, damn sympathy. There is a great deal too much

of that sort of thing going on nowadays.

 

LORD GORING. I quite agree with you, father. If there was less

sympathy in the world there would be less trouble in the world.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. [Going towards the smoking-room.] That is a

paradox, sir. I hate paradoxes.

 

LORD GORING. So do I, father. Everybody one meets is a paradox

nowadays. It is a great bore. It makes society so obvious.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. [Turning round, and looking at his son beneath his

bushy eyebrows.] Do you always really understand what you say, sir?

 

LORD GORING. [After some hesitation.] Yes, father, if I listen

attentively.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. [Indignantly.] If you listen attentively! …

Conceited young puppy!

 

[Goes off grumbling into the smoking-room. PHIPPS enters.]

 

LORD GORING. Phipps, there is a lady coming to see me this evening

on particular business. Show her into the drawing-room when she

arrives. You understand?

 

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. It is a matter of the gravest importance, Phipps.

 

PHIPPS. I understand, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. No one else is to be admitted, under any circumstances.

 

PHIPPS. I understand, my lord. [Bell rings.]

 

LORD GORING. Ah! that is probably the lady. I shall see her myself.

 

[Just as he is going towards the door LORD CAVERSHAM enters from the

smoking-room.]

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir? am I to wait attendance on you?

 

LORD GORING. [Considerably perplexed.] In a moment, father. Do

excuse me. [LORD CAVERSHAM goes back.] Well, remember my

instructions, Phipps - into that room.

 

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

 

[LORD GORING goes into the smoking-room. HAROLD, the footman shows

MRS. CHEVELEY in. Lamia-like, she is in green and silver. She has

a cloak of black satin, lined with dead rose-leaf silk.]

 

HAROLD. What name, madam?

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [To PHIPPS, who advances towards her.] Is Lord

Goring not here? I was told he was at home?

 

PHIPPS. His lordship is engaged at present with Lord Caversham,

madam.

 

[Turns a cold, glassy eye on HAROLD, who at once retires.]

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [To herself.] How very filial!

 

PHIPPS. His lordship told me to ask you, madam, to be kind enough to

wait in the drawing-room for him. His lordship will come to you

there.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [With a look of surprise.] Lord Goring expects me?

 

PHIPPS. Yes, madam.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. Are you quite sure?

 

PHIPPS. His lordship told me that if a lady called I was to ask her

to wait in the drawing-room. [Goes to the door of the drawing-room

and opens it.] His lordship’s directions on the subject were very

precise.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [To herself] How thoughtful of him! To expect the

unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. [Goes towards the

drawing-room and looks in.] Ugh! How dreary a bachelor’s drawing-room always looks. I shall have to alter all this. [PHIPPS brings

the lamp from the writing-table.] No, I don’t care for that lamp.

It is far too glaring. Light some candles.

 

PHIPPS. [Replaces lamp.] Certainly, madam.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. I hope the candles have very becoming shades.

 

PHIPPS. We have had no complaints about them, madam, as yet.

 

[Passes into the drawing-room and begins to light the candles.]

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [To herself.] I wonder what woman he is waiting for

to-night. It will be delightful to catch him. Men always look so

silly when they are caught. And they are always being caught.

[Looks about room and approaches the writing-table.] What a very

interesting room! What a very interesting picture! Wonder what his

correspondence is like. [Takes up letters.] Oh, what a very

uninteresting correspondence! Bills and cards, debts and dowagers!

Who on earth writes to him on pink paper? How silly to write on pink

paper! It looks like the beginning of a middle-class romance.

Romance should never begin with sentiment. It should begin with

science and end with a settlement. [Puts letter down, then takes it

up again.] I know that handwriting. That is Gertrude Chiltern’s. I

remember it perfectly. The ten commandments in every stroke of the

pen, and the moral law all over the page. Wonder what Gertrude is

writing to him about? Something horrid about me, I suppose. How I

detest that woman! [Reads it.] ‘I trust you. I want you. I am

coming to you. Gertrude.’ ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming

to you.’

 

[A look of triumph comes over her face. She is just about to steal

the letter, when PHIPPS comes in.]

 

PHIPPS. The candles in the drawing-room are lit, madam, as you

directed.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. [Rises hastily and slips the letter under

a large silver-cased blotting-book that is lying on the table.]

 

PHIPPS. I trust the shades will be to your liking, madam. They are

the most becoming we have. They are the same as his lordship uses

himself when he is dressing for dinner.

 

MRS. CHEVELEY. [With a smile.] Then I am sure they will be

perfectly right.

 

PHIPPS. [Gravely.] Thank you, madam.

 

[MRS. CHEVELEY goes into the drawing-room. PHIPPS closes the door

and retires. The door is then slowly opened, and MRS. CHEVELEY comes

out and creeps stealthily towards the writing-table. Suddenly voices

are heard from the smoking-room. MRS. CHEVELEY grows pale, and

stops. The voices grow louder, and she goes back into the drawing-room, biting her lip.]

 

[Enter LORD GORING and LORD CAVERSHAM.]

 

LORD GORING. [Expostulating.] My dear father, if I am to get

married, surely you will allow me to choose the time, place, and

person? Particularly the person.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. [Testily.] That is a matter for me, sir. You would

probably make a very poor choice. It is I who should be consulted,

not you. There is property at stake. It is not a matter for

affection. Affection comes later on in married life.

 

LORD GORING. Yes. In married life affection comes when people

thoroughly dislike each other, father, doesn’t it? [Puts on LORD

CAVERSHAM’S cloak for him.]

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. Certainly, sir. I mean certainly not, air. You are

talking very foolishly to-night. What I say is that marriage is a

matter for common sense.

 

LORD GORING. But women who have common sense are so curiously plain,

father, aren’t they? Of course I only speak from hearsay.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. No woman, plain or pretty, has any common sense at

all, sir. Common sense is the privilege of our sex.

 

LORD GORING. Quite so. And we men are so self-sacrificing that we

never use it, do we, father?

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. I use it, sir. I use nothing else.

 

LORD GORING. So my mother tells me.

 

LORD CAVERSHAM. It is the secret of your mother’s happiness. You

are very heartless, sir, very heartless.

 

LORD GORING. I hope not, father.

 

[Goes out for a moment. Then returns, looking rather put out, with

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.]

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. My dear Arthur, what a piece of good luck

meeting you on the doorstep! Your servant had just told me you were

not at home. How extraordinary!

 

LORD GORING. The fact is, I am horribly busy to-night, Robert, and I

gave orders I was not at home to any one. Even my father had a

comparatively cold reception. He complained of a draught the whole

time.

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! you must be at home to me, Arthur. You are

my best friend. Perhaps by to-morrow you will be my only friend. My

wife has discovered everything.

 

LORD GORING. Ah! I guessed as much!

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Looking at him.] Really! How?

 

LORD GORING. [After some hesitation.] Oh, merely by something in

the expression of your face as you came in. Who told her?

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley herself. And the woman I love

knows that I began my career with an act of low dishonesty, that I

built up my life upon sands of shame - that I sold, like a common

huckster, the secret that had been intrusted to me as a man of

honour. I thank heaven poor Lord Radley died without knowing that I

betrayed him. I would to God I had died before I had been so

horribly tempted, or had fallen so low. [Burying his face in his

hands.]

 

LORD GORING. [After a pause.] You have heard nothing from Vienna

yet, in answer to your wire?

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Looking up.] Yes; I got a telegram from the

first secretary at eight o’clock to-night.

 

LORD GORING. Well?

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Nothing is absolutely known against her. On

the contrary, she occupies a rather high position in society. It is

a sort of open secret that Baron Arnheim left her the greater portion

of his immense fortune. Beyond that I can learn nothing.

 

LORD GORING. She doesn’t turn out to be a spy, then?

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! spies are of no use nowadays. Their

profession is over. The newspapers do their work instead.

 

LORD GORING. And thunderingly well they do it.

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, I am parched with thirst. May I ring

for something? Some hock and seltzer?

 

LORD GORING. Certainly. Let me. [Rings the bell.]

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thanks! I don’t know what to do, Arthur, I

don’t know what to do, and you are my only friend. But what a friend

you are - the one friend I can trust. I can trust you absolutely,

can’t I?

 

[Enter PHIPPS.]

 

LORD GORING. My dear Robert, of course. Oh! [To PHIPPS.] Bring

some hock and seltzer.

 

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. And Phipps!

 

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. Will you excuse me for a moment, Robert? I want to

give some directions to my servant.

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Certainly.

 

LORD GORING. When that lady calls, tell her that I am not expected

home this evening. Tell her that I have been suddenly called out of

town. You understand?

 

PHIPPS. The lady is in that room, my lord. You told me to show her

into that room, my lord.

 

LORD GORING. You did perfectly right. [Exit PHIPPS.] What a mess I

am in. No; I think I shall get through it. I’ll give her a lecture

through the door. Awkward thing to manage, though.

 

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, tell me what